


our hearts are just made out of strings to be pulled

by shinealightonme



Series: what useless tools ourselves [10]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: Adam is still learning how to be Ronan's boyfriend. It can be confusing sometimes.Other times it's pretty straightforward.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: what useless tools ourselves [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/944106
Comments: 61
Kudos: 641





	our hearts are just made out of strings to be pulled

**Author's Note:**

> **Me:** I've been publishing a lot of E-rated stories lately, maybe it's time to focus on some non-smutty WIPs.  
>  **AO3:** the next Raven Cycle fic you publish is going to be your 69th.  
>  **Me:** okay, we're writing some porn.
> 
> Thanks to the anon on tumblr who asked for LA verse first time. That turned out to be a great thing to write in this weird era.

They've been dating for one week, no matter what Ronan says about it, when Ronan takes him on a tour of the neighborhood.

That's not what he calls it, but that's what it feels like, one long meandering walk where Ronan points out weird and useful and irritating features of the area. Adam hadn't known about any of them. Even after living here for three months he doesn't know the neighborhood well. He hadn't tried to get to know the neighborhood, because he knew all along he was never going to live here much longer than three months.

In a week it'll be September and he'll start looking for a new apartment. That's the plan. That's been the plan since he moved in.

"Tired?" Ronan asks, when they're back in front of their building. Adam is slightly disoriented; he doesn't normally approach the apartment from this direction. The last few streets were residential and permit parking only, so there's no point to ever go down them. He's adding them to his map of his surroundings anyway, the same as he'd added the hidden park and the intersection that smells bad for some reason and the corner store that always cards _even though I've been there a million times and also I'm not thirteen years old_.

So he's distracted when he shakes his head and follows Ronan up the stairs. It only occurs to him that it's late after Ronan has unlocked the door and stepped inside. He has work tomorrow; he should go to bed soon.

But he's already here. It's not like it'll take him more than a minute to walk to his place.

He steps inside. Ronan heads for the "kitchen," the corner of the room where he stores the mini-fridge and the microwave. There's half a loaf of bread lying on the ground, plastic bag pecked open. The raven is nowhere in sight.

"Ungrateful little punk." Ronan chucks the bread into the trash can.

Adam shuts the window. He's given up expressing his concerns about Ronan leaving it open while he's out. He settled for giving Ronan a dowel to put on the track, so the window only opens six inches. It's wide enough that his raven -- sorry, _the_ raven, _I don't own her, she does whatever she wants_ , although mostly what she wants to do is hang out around Ronan -- can come and go as she pleases.

Ronan sweeps the crumbs into one hand. He gets half of them, at most, grinds the rest deeper into the carpet. He should just ask if he can borrow Adam's vacuum. No, he should have a vacuum of his own. He should shut his window when he isn't home. He should know better than to have such fondness for wild creatures who make a mess out of his life and then leave.

He dumps the handful of crumbs in the trash and brushes his hands off on his pants, probably knocking more crumbs back into the carpet.

Adam thinks, _ridiculous impossible bizarre unpredictable strange absurd unfathomable_ , a dozen words that are true but not right. He can't describe the way that Ronan is acting when all he's doing is being himself. He gives up trying to classify what he's feeling and follows it instead, steps up next to Ronan and takes his hand.

Ronan looks surprised. Adam likes how Ronan looks when he's surprised. He runs the back of his fingers softly down his cheek, committing the expression to memory.

Ronan catches his wrist, tilt his face in toward Adam and kisses the palm of his hand. He looks -- trapped, but with no desire to escape, caught in this unexpected tenderness that Adam doesn't understand but thinks might be his fault.

"You're one of a kind," Adam says. "You know that?"

Ronan breathes in and then out, warm against his skin.

"Yeah. I know." He looks up, holds his gaze until Adam leans forward to kiss him.

It's the same story as everything else with Ronan: Adam isn't prepared for what happens next. For how quickly it gets intense, for the _way_ that it gets intense -- not heated or frantic, but deep, like Ronan is leading him down something endless, profound. They've made out before, but not like this. Adam doesn't really think anyone has made out like this before.

He'd closed the window; he hadn't closed the blinds. There's a chance that someone can see them, but he can't bear to fix that, because when he stops kissing Ronan he has to go back to his apartment and go to sleep and get up and go to work, and he doesn't want to do that. He wants this to last for as long as possible. Ronan has his arms around his shoulders, holding onto him, but just to be safe Adam clutches at his back.

Ronan breathes out, almost a moan, and rocks his hips forward. He's hard. Adam zeroes in on that crucial fact. He doesn't really care that he's hard too, because yes, of course, obviously this is hot. It's much more important that Ronan is turned on, that Adam turned him on, that when he digs his nails in he makes Ronan whisper "fuck. _Fuck,_ " against his mouth.

Adam shivers, his desire obvious. Ronan has to know that Adam wants him. That thought makes the hunger worse.

Ronan asks, "Do you want to go to the bedroom?"

Adam is still capable of speech, somehow. "We're in the bedroom. Your whole apartment is one room."

"I was trying to be classy."

"Right." Adam smiles. "I forgot you're a gentleman."

He goes to kiss Ronan again, but this time Ronan keeps it short and light.

"Do you want to have sex?"

The question crashes into Adam. While he was teasing Ronan he still had some distance from this. Now it's real.

He's dating Ronan, and he'd really like to keep dating Ronan, which isn't going to happen if he screws this up. He's never had sex with those kinds of stakes before. He's never had sex when anything was really at stake. It's so much more terrifying this way.

He says "yes," because out of the mess of emotions Adam has about Ronan, fascination and gratitude and bewilderment and something that usually feels fuzzy and warm and now is crackling like electricity, _lust_ is and always has been clear.

Ronan says, "but."

"But what?" Adam asks. It isn't really fair of Ronan to keep surprising him.

"You sounded like you were going to say no."

"I said yes. That's the opposite of no."

"Yeah, which is why I'm confused."

Adam slides his hands further up Ronan's shirt and kisses him. "Does that clear things up?"

"No."

Adam sighs. He drops his eyes down to Ronan's chest instead of his face. "I'm a little nervous," he admits. "That isn't a good enough reason to not do something that I want. And I want to have sex with you. There's no but."

Ronan considers this. Adam could probably figure out what he's thinking, if he checked his expression. He doesn't check.

"There's a but," Ronan says. "There's two butts," and he drops a hand down to pinch his ass.

"Okay, now I _don't_ want to have sex with you -- " but Ronan cuts him off. Adam decides he'd rather kiss him back than complain. It's not like this will be the last time Ronan has a terrible sense of humor.

Ronan takes a step back, snags his hand and then takes another step, like he intends to guide Adam to the bed, which is highly visible and all of ten feet away. Adam grins at the unnecessary chivalry, on the verge of playing along, until he has a thought.

"Hang on," and he tugs Ronan toward him instead. One free hand is enough to lower the blinds.

As soon as they're down Ronan pushes his shirt up and off him, before Adam's even had a chance to turn around. It gets tangled up in his arms. He has to pull it off himself, while Ronan stands behind him and runs his hands up and down his bare back.

"Okay," Adam says. "You can take me to the bedroom now."

"I thought we were already in it."

"Changed my mind." He turns around so he can see, yup, there it is, Ronan scowling at him. "It's not the bedroom if we're wearing pants."

"Huh. I guess that's not totally stupid."

"Thanks."

Ronan places his hands on the waist of Adam's jeans, just above his fly. Adam goes _dizzy_ with want. His eyes open without him really noticing they'd closed. Ronan is watching him, a question in his eyes that he doesn't ask. He rubs the side of his face against the side of Adam's face.

Adam makes a small sound, half agreement, half request.

Ronan kisses his ear and works the button open on his pants, pushes them down toward the ground. It's uncomfortable having them bunched around his ankles, so he steps out of them, walks over to sit on the edge of the bed and slip his shoes off. Ronan pulls his own shirt off and tosses it haphazardly across the room. It lands half in the trash can. Adam snorts and looks back at Ronan to mock him.

He doesn't get to do it; he gets distracted by the expression on Ronan's face, by the way he's standing frozen.

"You're still wearing pants," Adam points out, and when that doesn't get a response he asks, more hesitant than he means to, "Lynch?"

Ronan starts. His face goes red.

"I just -- like seeing that. You. In my bed."

Adam has no idea how he's supposed to respond to that. He doesn't know if Ronan wants him to respond, as embarrassed as he looks about it. He says "I bet the view's better from over here" because joking feels safest.

Ronan snorts, his usual confidence returning. "You're such a fucking dork."

Adam leans back, laying himself out along the bed and hoping he looks seductive, or at least not like a fucking dork. Ronan gets the button on his pants and unzips the fly, only then remembers that he's wearing boots. He tries to pull his pants off over them, tries to unlace them when that doesn't work. He gets one off; the other lace snarls so bad he gives up on untying it and tugs on the boot.

"Oh my God, just get over here," Adam says. Ronan flips him off but shuffles over anyway, throws himself onto the bed and pointedly thumps his foot on top of the blanket. Which is _his blanket_ , so he can go ahead and make whatever point he likes.

Adam picks at the bootlace. Ronan did a number on it, but he still could have untangled it pretty quickly, if he was allowed to focus. Instead he has to pause and start over every few seconds, because Ronan refuses to keep his hands to himself, keeps touching his back, his sides, his ass, kisses a long line down his arm.

By the time Adam gets the knot done all he can think is _my turn_ ; he pulls the boot and the pants off and then runs his hands down Ronan's bare legs, simply for the joy of touching him. His fingers skim over a scab on his knee, across the jut of his ankle bones, down the pale arch of his foot.

Ronan twitches and pulls his leg in toward himself.

"Are you ticklish?" Adam asks, delight creeping into his voice.

"No," Ronan grouses. Adam translates that to _somewhat, possibly very_. "I just don't like my feet getting touched."

"Because you're ticklish."

"I don't need a reason. No one likes having their feet touched."

"I mean, some people really like having their feet touched." Adam is aware that they've gotten off track. He's enjoying this weird mix of arousal and amusement, though, like you're allowed to feel two completely different kinds of pleasure at the same time.

Ronan glares at him. "Do you have a foot fetish? You have to tell me if you have a foot fetish."

"I don't," Adam says. "But I'm starting to think you do and you're projecting."

Ronan takes his wrist and hauls him up toward the head of the bed. Adam sprawls out on his side next to him.

Ronan kisses his palm. He'd done that earlier in the night, but it feels different now that they're naked in bed together, not like courtly love at all. His breath catches in his throat.

Ronan runs his tongue hot and wet and slow across his palm. Adam wonders for a wild moment if that's his heart line, and then decides that he doesn't care. What he cares about is the gentle way that Ronan bites the tips of two of his fingers, the way he swirls his tongue around them and pulls them deeper into his mouth.

"For -- " The word is barely audible. Adam swallows, finding his voice. Ronan locks eyes with him. Adam has to swallow again. "For the record, I don't think a hand fetish is, is less weird than a foot fetish -- " Ronan's tongue runs the length of his fingers. " -- but I can work with that."

Ronan sucks down, cheeks going hollow and eyes shutting. Adam stops breathing and then exhales all at once, shaky and too loud. Ronan pulls his mouth off of him, and Adam gets hit with another wave of lust: at his smirk, or the heat of his breath, or the sight of his saliva on his skin, or just at all of it.

He asks "can I," his hand drifting down before he can find the words. Ronan's already nodding, so maybe he doesn't need to.

He places a hand on Ronan's cock. Ronan bites out a word that Adam can't make out but that he's positive is a curse. He slides his palm up and down along the shaft until Ronan is pushing against him, and then he wraps his hand around his cock.

Ronan groans harshly as Adam strokes him, like the sound was wrenched loose from somewhere deep inside. He runs his hand through Adam's hair and pulls him in for a rough kiss. Adam snatches a breath and kisses him back with just as much force.

His heart was beating fast before. Now it's pounding. It's hard to think about anything besides that, or really to think at all. It takes a while to occur to him that there's too much friction.

He breaks away long enough to say "tell me you have lube," and then "ow," because Ronan took advantage of the moment to bite him, and what the hell, who bites someone's ear?

Ronan kisses his ear softly, doing penance, and then reaches for the nightstand. He doesn't get close enough to open it. All he really manages to do is drape himself across Adam's body. Adam decides that he has a new priority.

He lies flat on his back and circles his arms around Ronan's shoulders. Ronan lets him tug him down, although he has to shift a few times, get a knee on each side of Adam, before he finds a position he likes. Adam likes it too, likes being fixed in place. Kissing Ronan feels so huge that it could overwhelm him, if he ever let it. This time, he lets it, lets everything else fall away until there's nothing except the heat and the hunger and the sure presence of his body.

So he gasps in shock, as much as pleasure, when Ronan touches his cock.

"Yeah?" Ronan asks, as smug as Adam has ever heard him. "You like that?" 

His attitude deserves a challenge, and Adam intends to give him one, except then Ronan's mouth is on his neck and he's moaning, instead.

"Fuck," Ronan gloats, and nips at his skin again. "Never figured you'd be so damn loud." His teeth find a sensitive spot and Adam's body betrays him by whimpering. "You want it that bad?"

Adam didn't know he could be this obvious. Adam didn't know that he could be this desperate. The only thing that makes it bearable, that makes it incredible, is that Ronan wants this just as bad as he does.

So he licks his palm and starts jerking Ronan off again.

" _Shit_ ," Ronan hisses. A spasm runs through his whole body. Passes through Adam's body, too, but he tries not to think about how hot it is to hear Ronan's voice break open.

"Yeah?" Adam mimics his tone, or as close as he can get when he's breathless. "You like that?"

Ronan falls still. He looks up, confusion on his face that turns to outrage when Adam grins at him.

"You little shit." Ronan climbs off of him and rummages around in the nightstand for the lube.

Adam wants to laugh, or get Ronan off, or maybe both. Ronan returns before he's decided, straddling his thighs and towering over him. He has, literally, the upper hand, so Adam cheats; he trails his fingers slowly across his own stomach, up to his chest, and while Ronan watches, hypnotized, he steals the lube. It's not very hard to do. By the time he notices it's gone Adam already has one slick hand around him, working him over.

Ronan breathes out softly, a quiet surrender.

Adam asks, "like that," a real question this time.

Ronan nods, and nods again. His eyes catch on Adam's face, flick down to watch Adam's hand moving on his cock, dart between the two like he can't decide which he likes better.

He does make an attempt to reciprocate. Adam stops him; he wants it too badly to actually get it right now. He takes Ronan's hand and kisses his fingertips, instead. He hopes the gesture means something to Ronan when he's the one receiving it.

Ronan gives him a little smile, incongruously shy, and then inhales sharply and bucks up into his grip, something in the moment hitting him just right.

Adam focuses on that, chases after everything that feels good. He kisses Ronan's hand twice more before he lets it go. He runs teasing lines up and down the inside of his thigh, going higher and higher each time. He finally grips the base of his cock in one hand, uses the other to rub circles over the tip.

Ronan hisses like he started to say _shit_ but couldn't manage the whole thing. That's maybe a weird thing for Adam to take pride in.

Ronan's fingers alight on his chest, tentative. They skirt across his nipples, curl around his shoulder and then slip off, never really settling anywhere.

"You know you can touch me, right?" Adam asks. "If you want."

"I want -- fuck." He falls forward, hands on either side of Adam, body warm and so, so close. His breath is hot against Adam's neck when he exhales. "I want -- "

"Yeah?" Adam brings his mouth up to his ear. "Don't leave me guessing, Lynch."

He's wound so tight he's nearly shaking. Adam rubs a hand on his back, soothing, and then gently squeezes the head of his cock.

Ronan groans. "I want to come on you."

That sounds like a fantastic idea to Adam, although to be fair most things would sound like a fantastic idea in that low, heated growl. "So what are you waiting for?"

Ronan kisses him once, biting his lip just shy of painful, and lifts himself further off the bed. He's breathing so hard. Adam's hand speeds up to match him. He's as much on edge as Ronan is, if that's even possible. He _wants_ \--

Ronan tenses up, energy and motion and desire suspended for one agonizing moment, and then releases it all in a rush. He spills out across Adam's chest, the feeling of it landing on him somehow surprising even when he asked for it. Ronan runs his fingers through his come, smearing it over Adam's skin. His eyes snap shut and then he thrusts again, cock spurting out one last time onto Adam.

He doesn't move, after. He stays where he is, head hanging down and one hand resting on Adam's chest, even though Adam can feel his thighs trembling.

Adam starts to reach for him but reconsiders. He wipes his hand off on himself and then lays it on his back.

Ronan breathes in deep, the first rumble of a machine coming back online. He moves just enough to brush his lips over Adam's.

"Fuck," Ronan says, and then "fuck" again, like he can't think of anything else.

Adam says, "I win."

Ronan blinks, still collecting himself. "What?"

"I got you off first," he says. "I win."

"Bullshit, you win." Ronan shoves himself down the bed and climbs between his legs.

Adam enjoys that sight so thoroughly that he very nearly forgets:

"Wait, no, I haven't been tested recently."

Ronan makes a face. "Condom?"

Adam shakes his head. "Get up here."

Ronan lies down on the bed next to him and Adam turns his face up, insistent. Ronan smiles like that's funny, but whatever, he got what he wanted, now it's Adam's turn.

"Hey," Ronan says, "sit up for a second."

Adam half suspects a trick but plays along, trusting him to make this good or at least entertaining.

Ronan wraps an arm low around his back and guides him down to the bed again, so they're lying close and curled in toward each other.

Adam thinks, _oh_. It's nice, being held. Except he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with his hands, caught between their bodies. At least no one's lying on them; Ronan's arm going to fall asleep like this. Their knees are bumping together. Is this what Ronan was going for?

Ronan cups his face in one hand and kisses him, and Adam goes back to _oh._

There's nothing urgent anymore. Ronan's mouth is on his, where he needs it to be. He breathes when he feels lightheaded, and Ronan breathes with him. They're circled together too tightly to fall apart. Everything's just -- right, and it's going to stay right. Adam relaxes into that knowledge, hands uncurling to lie flat against Ronan's chest.

He can get lost in this, so he does.

Ronan caresses him, sweet, deliberate touches everywhere he can reach: his face, his chest, his back, down his side to his cock. Ronan strokes him, slow and easy -- too slow, or it would be, except that he just _keeps going_. The sensation builds and builds until Adam can't even kiss him anymore, until he's just panting against his mouth.

Ronan pulls away.

Adam's eyes flutter open, searching for him. He hasn't gone anywhere; he can't, with Adam lying on his arm. He's only put a few inches between them, not enough distance to matter, so Adam doesn't understand why he'd bother. Unless -- 

He meets Ronan's eyes and something lurches inside of him.

 _Unless he wants to see you_ , Adam thinks, and then he comes so hard that his mind goes blank.

Ronan settles back down next to him, close. He kisses the corner of his mouth where Adam doesn't have to return it. That sounds like too much effort right now. Everything sounds like too much effort except lying in this bed.

His energy gradually returns. He thinks that he could kiss Ronan. He thinks that it might be nice to be clean.

He thinks that it is way, way past time for him to go back to his apartment.

Ronan shifts. His arm tugs Adam just a little closer.

"D'you want to stay?"

Adam is a complete and total moron.

He'd been nervous about screwing up _sex_? It was a couple of hand jobs, that's as low-stakes as this was ever going to be. And while he'd been worried about that he hadn't worried about _this_ , about what would happen if he _didn't_ screw up. If this goes on, if he sleeps over tonight and gets up tomorrow and doesn't go apartment hunting, if Ronan keeps making him feel all kinds of happy at the same time, if he lets one month of dating turn into two turn into who knows what, the stakes are going to skyrocket. That's what he should have been nervous about all along. That's what he's nervous about now.

But nerves aren't a good enough reason not to do something that he wants.

"Yes," he says, decisive, "but first I'm going to the bathroom."

He jumps in the shower without bothering to ask for permission first. It's just a quick rinse. Ronan doesn't have any shampoo, although he has, Adam counts, five different kinds of shower gel from Bath and Body Works.

Ronan goes into the bathroom when Adam's done. The overhead light is off, the bedside lamp the only light in the room. Adam sits on the bed. On the left side, first, because it's closer. Then he scoots over to the right side.

He should take the worse side, as the guest, right? Or does the guest get the better side? He thinks that's only if the host offers the better side. Which side even is the better side?

Ronan steps out of the bathroom. Adam pulls his hand back like he wasn't just comparing pillow densities. Ronan turns off the lamp and climbs into the empty left side of the bed: choice made.

Ronan places a hand on the side of his neck and kisses him, both touches so gentle that Adam would barely feel them if every touch from Ronan didn't radiate through him.

"We should sleep," Adam says.

"Mm-hm."

"Soon," he continues, staying right where he is.

Ronan is the one to pull away first, kissing him one last time before rolling over.

Adam snuggles up behind him, drapes an arm over his side, and then absolutely fails to fall asleep for the next several hours.

They manage to drift off a few times, snatch little bits of rest in between Ronan tossing or Adam turning, but it never lasts long.

"Sorry," Adam mumbles, dropping a sleepy little kiss on Ronan's shoulder when his latest bit of restlessness disturbs him. "I think I'm still keyed up."

"I sleep like shit anyway."

"Still sorry."

They don't talk much, even when Adam can tell that Ronan is also awake. A long conversation would only reset the clock.

On the other hand, just lying there thinking about the fact he's awake doesn't help. And when he isn't thinking about that, he's thinking about the fact that Ronan is naked, which doesn't help either.

"What's with the shower gel?"

"Hm?" Ronan didn't understand the question; Adam blames it on the late hour.

"Why d'you have shower gel?"

"'m allowed to smell nice."

"You've never once smelled like cherry blossom or eucalyptus."

Ronan snorts into his pillow. "You smell me? Fucking creep."

"Ngh, you like it."

Ronan noses at his hair, like he's the one creepily smelling Adam. He kisses the back of his neck, too, which Adam likes enough that he overlooks the hypocrisy.

He realizes that Ronan never answered the question, and then he realizes that he doesn't have the strength to follow up, and then he realizes that he must have fallen asleep at some point because he doesn't remember lying on his stomach.

He rolls over. Ronan grumbles an inarticulate complaint. Adam kisses the first part of him he can reach, which ends up being his cheek. Ronan makes another disgruntled sound and tilts his face until their mouths line up.

It feels so much like getting something right that Adam doesn't want to pull away, even with how tired he is. He leans into it, too sleepy and content to think anything beyond _more_. Somehow he ends up on top of Ronan, and then Ronan's thigh is between his legs, and then Ronan is sucking on his fingertips while Adam rubs off against him, whispering in a voice that burns his ears, _Lynch, Lynch, yes. God, Ronan._

He actually manages to knock out for a while after that.

At some indefinable point later Ronan comes back to bed. Adam hadn't noticed him getting up; he thinks he must have just been gone for a minute. The bed is still warm. Actually the bed is too warm. He kicks the blanket back down when Ronan tries to pull it over them.

"Hot," he mutters.

"Yeah you are."

Adam squints at him, for whatever good that does; if he can't read Ronan's expression it's not like Ronan can read his. "How can _you_ brag about _me_ being hot?"

"Duh. We're having sex. I get to brag about snagging someone this hot."

"Don't think I like the word _snag_ ," Adam mumbles. Pushing the blanket down didn't make him any cooler, it just makes him feel exposed.

"I know I'm an insomniac," Ronan says. "What's your excuse?"

"You. I'm blaming this on you."

"Real mature." Ronan licks the side of his face.

Adam shoves him off but can't stop himself from laughing. He doesn't need to see Ronan's expression to know that he's smirking about that.

"Fine, I accept some responsibility. I would've known you'd keep me up if I'd ever thought about it." He yawns. "Happy?"

Ronan does not sound particularly happy. "You didn't think about this?"

"I didn't really think this far ahead." Adam traces the line of Ronan's collarbones. "You take a lot of getting used to."

"Wow. Sorry I'm such a pain."

Adam looks up, startled, but he can't make out Ronan's face any better than he could a moment before. He abandons the attempt, hooks his hand behind his neck and presses their foreheads together.

"Lynch," he says. "I have never met anyone like you. And I like that. It just means that I don't know what to _do_ with you all the time. I think if I did then you'd bore me."

Ronan _hm_ s, quiet; not agreeing, but not upset, either.

"You can't tell me that you expected how any of this happened."

"It doesn't matter what you expect," Ronan says. "Someone just -- fits, and then you figure out why or you figure out that they don't."

"You make it sound so easy. Like it doesn't take any work."

"If you can't handle the work then you don't really fit."

Adam isn't sure he agrees with that, but he can at least make sense of it. That's enough to go on.

"Okay," he says. "I'm just doing some work, that's all. It might take me a while before I know what I'm doing, we've only been dating for a week."

Ronan corrects him, right on cue. "A month."

"A week," Adam insists; softly, because he knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on, and because everything about this moment is soft.

"You are so fucking stubborn," but even that is soft.

There's no argument for that, so Adam cheats again. "Mm." He shuts his eyes and relaxes into the pillows. "You can't criticize me while I'm asleep, that's rude."

Ronan mutters something about _lying_ but lets it drop. He nestles up against Adam, still turned in to face him, and twines their legs together.

Adam places his fingers on Ronan's chest. He can feel the heart there beating, quickly at first but slowing down; feels his own heartbeat even out to match it. He doesn't notice when he falls asleep for good.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](https://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/617690049493057536/i-think-we-need-pynchs-first-time-in-the-la)!


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